That thou hast her, it is not all my grief (Sonnet 42)

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that ouches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost hove her, because thou know’st I love her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross:
    But here’s the joy; my friend and I are one;
    Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.